Take a Deep Breath and Sigh
by tearsofamiko
Summary: He feels his heart drop in his chest and his mouth go dry as he realizes there's no sign of Neal among the milling guests. ONESHOT, no slash


Title: Take a Deep Breath and Sigh

Author: Tearsofamiko

Rating: K

Disclaimer: I own nothing about the White Collar series, its characters or plotlines. Why rub it in?

Spoilers: definite spoilers for _Hard_ _Sell_ (most specifically, the scene in the vault)

Summary: He feels his heart drop in his chest and his mouth go dry as he realizes there's no sign of Neal among the milling guests.

A/N: Well, I've succumbed to the joys of another obsession. Don't expect too many WC fics, but I couldn't help myself. Neal is just so ... _likeable_ (not to mention completely, adorably delicious). :) I've not seen all the episodes at this point (not even the first; just _Free_ _Fall_ through present), so I'm just working with what USA has posted on their site, though I doubt there will be any discrepancies within this fic. We'll see on anything else. :D

This happens from the vault lock-down to their conversation about Kate on the patio. I just added a brief little mini-scene. :)

All recognizable dialogue belongs to the show and the show's writers. I just borrowed it for the story.

**This story is complete.**

.:::.

Peter feels his heart drop in his chest as Avery and Reed began to connect the dots. Glancing around the room, his mouth goes dry when there's no sign of Neal among the milling guests. A second later he realizes where the ex-con's disappeared to, just as the crooked brokers find a common enemy to unite against, and adrenaline floods his system as he tracks the easiest way through the crowd to the comic vault. Edging away from the irate businessmen, he's just turning the corner when he hears the unmistakable sounds of a rifle being primed. Now knowing he has no choice, he quits pretending to play it cool and launches into a flat out sprint through the house.

A tense sort of relief floods him as he carefully rounds the comic vault's corner and sees Neal's lanky figure inside the small space, but things aren't any better just because he's found the kid. With Reed's unexpected arrival, there's no way of telling how the team stationed outside will respond, and the situation throws him abruptly back onto his agent instincts.

"Neal!" The warning is reflexive, thrown out before he can stop himself, as he launches into a sprint. He stoops slightly as footsteps sound behind him, as Neal looks up and catches his eye, as the younger man deliberately upsets the balance in the vault, triggering the security system just as a gunshot slams into the newly deployed glass partition. The instant the system kicks in, the change is palpable, and it's already hard to draw in enough air to speak.

"Alright, we need to find the kill switch," he instructs, pointing out the obvious as Neal starts rifling through his pockets for something. He pulls out the mini-oxygen canister and holds it between them and something about the kid's demeanor tells Peter he isn't going to like the next words out of his mouth.

"Take this," he says, all innocence and determination, and Peter's abruptly reminded once again of how different from other criminals Neal is.

"No, no," Burke interrupts, placing his hands over Neal's to keep the canister within Caffrey's grasp, "we look together. We share the oxygen until Jones comes." He's not going to let Neal – a civilian and _his_ responsibility – come to _any_ harm if he can help it, and that includes not using all of the oxygen himself.

Ever sharp, always two steps ahead, Neal cuts him off. "There's not enough time. Five minutes for one person, two-and-a-half for two." Cursing the logic behind the statement, Peter still can't just let it go.

"No, Neal -- "

"We're wasting time. Peter," and he glances up to see the deadly seriousness in those crystal-blue eyes, "I trust you." And the overwhelming weight of his words within the situation's context overcomes Peter's qualms, allowing the canister to be placed in his hand. Still, he almost continues to argue, driven by how hard Neal's panting versus how little exertion he's put forth since the security system was triggered, but something in his eyes makes him take the mini-breather.

He doesn't turn away immediately, unable to take his attention off Neal as the younger man begins shoving boxes around on the shelves. Finally, wrenching his eyes away, he heads to the other side of the vault, sweeping his hand along the wall as he goes in an attempt to be as thorough as possible, as quick as possible. He follows Neal's lead, searching behind the boxes, looking through the shelves, and along the walls. In a strangely distorted way, he hears the framed comics clatter against the wall as Neal continues his search, but he doesn't turn, just directs his attention to lifting one of the comics away from the wall to inspect the wall behind it. Instinct tells him time's running short and the defeatist in the back of his mind whispers that they're not getting out of this one, that this is the last con Neal will ever pull because they don't even know exactly what they're looking for. He shoves the thought away, moving down the wall to the next frame, but he's conscious of panic beginning to creep at the edges of his thoughts.

Something behind him, an oddly muted version of his name, a clatter different than the others, draws his attention and he turns in time to see Neal pointing at a tiny panel on the wall. He's distracted by Caffrey's pallor, by the way he suddenly stumbles back against the wall and gulps reflexively, dulled eyes flying up to meet Peter's as he slides down the wall, blinking sluggishly before collapsing completely on the floor. He's across the room in an instant, his hand hovering over the switch when, by instinct, he turns and stares straight at the gun aimed at them. He hesitates, torn by the threat within the vault and the threat without. Stalling, he leans down and shakes the kid's shoulder, frowning grimly when there's not even the flicker of a response. The deadly stillness of the usually animated man forces his hand. Glancing down once more at Neal, he takes one last breath and spits out the oxygen canister, drawing his weapon as he meets Avery's eyes through the glass. Taking aim, he slams his hand down over the switch.

The divider isn't halfway up when he hears the cavalry rush in. Watching long enough to see Jones and Cruz take control of Avery and Reed, he drops to his knees, relief coursing through him even though they aren't out of danger yet.

"Alright, come on, Neal," he mutters to himself as a hand held over his face confirms Peter's fears: Neal isn't breathing despite the sudden in-rush of oxygen. "Come on." Determinedly staying calm, showing no outward signs of anxiety or more-than-ordinary concern, he centers his hands over Neal's sternum and presses once. He's rewarded with a sudden gasp as Neal's eyes fly open and rise to meet his own. "Attaboy." He can't help but chuckle a little in relief as the kid drops his head back to the floor and pulls in great gulps of air. "Breathe," he instructs, following his own advice and sighing slightly as Neal opens his eyes again and meets his gaze.

"That was a long five minutes," he quips breathlessly, and Peter chuckles weakly in agreement as he reaches out to help Neal up.

Once on his feet, Neal leans against the wall, head back and eyes closed. Peter watches him, his hand hovering near Neal's shoulder, until the ex-con straightens and runs a hand through his hair. Ever quick to recover, those brilliant blue eyes are only vaguely clouded now and, as he tugs his sweater back down into place and smoothes his hair, it's hard to tell that anything had gone wrong mere moments ago. Only the stress-lines around his eyes and the slight stumble in that first step away from the wall tell of what almost happened. Frowning slightly, Peter follows him, leaving Jones to handle Reed and Avery.

Winding their way through the crowded house, something in Neal's body language captures Peter's attention. It's the tension across the younger man's shoulders, the hands stuffed deep into pockets, and the careful way he avoids touching anyone on his way out to the patio that raise red flags in Peter's mind. After spending so much time in Caffrey's head, he feels he should know what's got the kid on edge, but he can't for the life of him figure out what it is.

They make their way to the edge of the yard, their backs to the house, in approximately the same place Neal'd stunned him by firing off two perfect shots last weekend. The sounds of the ocean drift up to them, soft as a whisper, laying a sense of serenity over the chaos of the crime scene behind them. Watching carefully out of the corner of his eye, Peter sees a single tremor run down the other man's back. But he knows Caffrey; questions will only return evasions, a battering-ram through a smoke-screen. So he waits, the one con he's ever managed to pull on the master. And the results are still the same.

"The white walls of a small room and the inability to breathe; an uncomfortably familiar nightmare come to life with stunning accuracy." And Peter understands. A free spirit, tethered willingly to only one person, the sterile walls of a prison cell would haunt him as much as Kate's continued absence. Turning to face the house, he places one hand on Neal's shoulder and squeezes gently, setting aside their past and their differences long enough to offer the only comfort the ex-con would, at this moment, willingly receive from his FBI captor. Neal doesn't acknowledge the gesture, but he doesn't rebuff it either and, somehow, Peter knows he appreciates it. Still without having said a word, he sets off for the house, fully cognizant of the absence of anything holding Neal in one location.

Immersing himself in his obligations, Peter spares one more glance at the lone figure by the drop-off and is struck by the unveiled emotion in his posture, in the strain of the tableau he's set against the brilliance of the sky, arms hanging loosely at his sides, eyes closed and face raised to the heavens, drinking in the cool clearness around him. And the irony of the situation is so sharp, it burns in the back of his throat.

The one time he's completely free and Neal's the only one holding himself back.


End file.
